


Natural State

by breakingoftheshell



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, F/M, Feels, First Time, POV Daryl Dixon, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Daryl Dixon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingoftheshell/pseuds/breakingoftheshell
Summary: After burning down the cabin, but before arriving at the church, Beth and Daryl stumble upon a hand drawn well, and to Daryl's dismay, Beth isn't about to miss the opportunity to use that bar of soap she swiped from the clubhouse.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 10
Kudos: 87





	Natural State

**Author's Note:**

> So, this wasn't supposed to happen, but it's real hard not to write Reedus porn. (I found out it's equally hard not to write Daryl Dixon with at least some Mommie Issues, but that's not really that important.) Anyway, this is a quick one shot. It just kinda... came out. Seriously, I wrote it on my phone. (So there are probably lots of typos and shit, but whatever.)

Daryl swears to himself that if this windy country road winds one more time, he's taking Beth and himself straight into the woods. The easier footing ain't worth the extra steps. Especially not in the heat that still sets in around midday this time of year. Even in rougher terrain, it would be smarter of them to take cover under the trees. But then they get around the end of the irksome bend they're on, and there it is.

A well pump, sticking out of a concrete pad, a galvanized bucket hanging from the spout and everything. They both stop at the sight, staring, and then Beth turns a wide gaze up to Daryl.

"Nah," he says doubtfully and with obvious discomfort, because despite the work Beth's done on him this last week, hope is still a stinging wound after all they've lost.

Beth gazes at him a moment longer, licking her lips, and then she bounds toward the well, ripping her empty canteen off her shoulder. Daryl trots after her, cuz while it's stupid to hope, it's equally stupid not to check. This could be, _could be_ , more than some asshole's idea of a lawn ornament. It could be a functioning well.

As they get closer, Daryl can make out the telltale lines of garden beds cut into the earth, and he picks up the pace, catching up to Beth so they reach the pump at the same time. She drops to her knees, wrestling the bucket off the spigot with a clatter, and Daryl glances nervously around even though they haven't heard or seen a walker for hours. He doesn't hear or see anything now either, and Beth makes an urgent noise at him. He'll laugh later at how she's learning to speak his wordless language.

Daryl adjusts the set of the crossbow on his shoulder and moves around to the handle of the pump. He gives it a crank, and it clatters and groans so much he winces, but on the second pump, something deep in the earth gurgles, and suddenly he's pumping faster. The pressure builds, he can feel the faint change as his arms bring up the weight of the water, and then the spigot spurts out a plume of rusty murk that hits the concrete and splashes all over Beth's lap.

Beth squeals and he keeps pumping until the water runs clear. Beth cranks the top off her canteen and plunges it under the flow, letting it fill and spill over her hands with a big grin on her face. Then she reseals her canteen and makes a grabbing motion at him until he frees up a hand so he can sling his toward her. She fills his too, soaked to her waist by now, and just when he considers letting go of the cast-iron handle, she shoves her whole grubby head under the stream of water. She squeals again and shivers, and he shoves a few more times before letting go and taking an unsteady step back.

It's probably not good that shit going right give him the shakes, but that's hope. Hope at the simplest things, and he exhausts himself, weakened by fighting his own disbelief.

The water keeps flowing long enough that Beth twists beneath it, opening her mouth wide and taking in the weakening spurts until it's just drops falling into her mouth. She swallows and looks up at him with a wide grin.

For a moment, Daryl's transfixed, and he doesn't even know by what. All he knows is he can't look away from her. Then something rustles across the road, and suddenly he can, jerking his gaze up just as fast as he yanks the crossbow from his shoulder and levels it at the noise. A fox darts out of the bushes, sees them, and takes a hard left, making a panicked dash back toward cover. Daryl looses a bolt without much thinking involved, and it makes a home right through the fox's eye socket. Pretty good shot for as jacked with adrenaline as Daryl is at the moment. Seriously. He's a mess cuz of some water. Fucks sake.

He listens for a few seconds longer, trying to pick out the sound of movement, but there's nothing, so he shakily lowers the crossbow. Beth, who froze at the noise just the same as he leapt into action, starts fumbling around again. His eyes dart to her, habit by now, and she's pulling something from her pocket and then rubbing it between her hands. He's honestly confused until suds start to form.

"No way," he says incredulously.

Beth grins up at him again and rubs a little harder at the yellow bar of soap.

"I'm about to be so clean," Beth teases, leering at him playfully.

He manages to frown and put some consternation into his tone. "No way."

He looks away from her, around, spotting the charred ruins of the house associated with the nearby garden beds, fire-eaten and smudged down to practically nothing in the earth.

"Ain't no shelter here," he says and looks back at Beth.

She straightens her back and scowls at him, a fierce little thing, soaking wet and on her knees, just daring him to stop her. Thing is, she knows by now that he doesn't remember how to truly say no to her. They both know he hasn't had that ability in a while. He's pretty sure they both know why too. It makes him irritable, and he tries to scowl back at her.

She lifts an unimpressed eyebrow and commands, "Water, Daryl."

He sets his jaw and doesn't move, expression daring her back, telling her to make him. They're frozen in a tense tableau for a long moment. Then she reaches down and starts hauling her shirt up. Daryl nearly staggers. She keeps pulling, gathering all the material on her upper body, and when she gets the mess over her head, he realizes she's pulled off her little bra and everything. She flings it all in front of her so that it lands on the concrete with a hard, wet smack. Daryl feels his eyes widen as she turns to him again, setting her hands on her hips, brazenly shoving her little handfuls of tits toward him.

"Water," she commands again, and Daryl groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

Truthfully, it ain't like he hasn't seen them before. There wasn't a whole lot of modesty to be found during that long winter after the farm. The menfolk did their best to keep their backs turned when the women washed up, but it was tight quarters and everyone's head was on a swivel when it came to unexpected noises. Daryl even kinda knows what Beth's tits feel like. He woke up more than once with her pressed into his back, huddled together in the cold. Her against his back, Maggie against her back, Glenn against her back. He'd always curled himself around Carol on those nights, trying to let his body be the furnace she needed. He's been smashed up against every single one of them at one time or another, come to think of it.

God he hopes they're alive, and that hope is an ugly fucking pain inside him.

That doesn't change the fact that they're in a world of trouble if anyone stumbles on them like this, whether they're dead or alive, friend or foe. Honestly, the idea of their family staggering into the clearing is scarier than anything. Hershel may be dead, but Daryl has to believe Rick would gladly step up to kick his ass if he caught him eyeing up a naked Beth. And he has to keep his eyes open. He has to still be able to see what's coming at them.

Daryl growls and staggers back to the well handle, grabbing on as much because he needs something to steady himself as he's following her command. He starts pumping again, wincing at the racket of it just the same. Beth makes a pleased sound and leans under the spray, until every inch of her is absolutely sopping. She rinses out the bucket and sets it under the spigot to fill before she gets to her feet. Right there in front of him, she starts to shimmy out of her pants, and she's doing it the same way she took her top off, which is to say, she's peeling off every stitch of clothing she has. She even kicks her boots away into the grass.

Daryl looks heavenward and mutters, "Lord."

He can hear her moving around, her feet patting through the puddles on the wet concrete.

"Okay, hold on for a minute," she says, and Daryl let's the pump handle fall still.

Beth starts soaping up in earnest, skating the gold bar across her slippery skin. Daryl squints and turns away, making a careful point of watching the distant tree lines. He draws the bow up into his hands to give his fists something to clench around. Beth keeps up, and he can hear the way her skin moves against itself, the sound of her hands rubbing firmly over each line and curve she has. He takes it until he can't, then he stomps away, crossing the road toward the fox.

"Hey!" Beth cries, alarmed as soon as he steps more than arms reach away.

Without looking back, he points vaguely at the fox and keeps going. He takes more time about it than he normally would, slow strides across the gravel road. He even attempts an introspective study of the dead fox. But eventually the only thing to do is yank the bolt out of its eye and sling the carcass over his shoulder by the tail. He sighs when he feels a warm dribble of blood on the back of his thigh. He maybe shoulda been more careful with that oozing eye socket.

He starts back across the road without lifting his head, following the splashing noises until the ever-present need to check his sight lines makes him give in.

And there's little Beth, naked as the day she was born, crouched on the concrete and scrubbing suds into her filthy clothes. She's pretty as a picture, smiling at her work, warm in the golden afternoon sunlight. She's like Eve before the fall or something, innocent and unashamed.

Daryl's seized by a sudden and maybe not even irrational bout of fear. God, he shouldn't have walked away. It was irresponsible, dangerous, to be even more than a few feet from her. If anyone saw her like this, they'd take her, steal her away. She'd be gone in a heartbeat if he wasn't there to stop it.

He hustles back across the road, this time without avoiding the sight of her. He doesn't stare, but he doesn't avert his eyes as he scans the area either. His brain helps him out by self-censoring, so she's blurry around her edges, like those people on Cops who don't want to be seen on TV. Something in him loosens and relaxes, satisfied that he's over himself.

He returns to the handle side of the spigot and lays the fox down in the dry grass a few feet away. It's a shame they don't have the time or tools to hide it. Beth'd probably look adorable with a fox skin stole.

He only even knows what a stole is cuz he remembers his mama had one, made of mink, and she'd let him pet it when she wore it. Just a little. Then it got pawned somewhere along the line. As long as she was still around, his mama never quit bitching about her missing stole. She yelled at him once, at her drunkest, accused him of stealing it, when they all knew exactly who took it and what he needed the money for. His mama never hurt him quite the same way his daddy did. Didn't leave scars he's still struggling to hide to this day. At Least not on the outside.

It's not without pain when he thinks of the way Beth looks almost incomplete without Judith. She's given all the gentle love of a mother to a baby that's not even hers. Course, he knows he reacted the same ridiculous way when he'd been the first one ever to feed her tiny mouth. He knows he decided then and there that he would do anything for that little girl. Lil Ass Kicker is all of theirs in some ways.

But she's mostly Beth's, in the honest light of the thing. It Beth's touch she knows, Beth's sweet, soft voice, Beth's determined and constant love. Daryl lived his entire _Before_ life in a world of bad mothers. There's a shitload of fucking irony that the world had to end before he ever met a good one.

But he did, finally, a few of them actually. It warms something inside him and he looks over at Beth, smiling softly at the suds still in her hair, the lather creeping up her arms as she scrubs her clothes against each other. There's a swipe of lather across her left breast, and one on her right cheek. She's clean and innocent, bare and precious.

He wants to tuck her inside his chest and keep her there forever. He's never felt like this, and it's a sweet, almost unbearable ache.

Beth sits back on her heels with a satisfied smile.

"Okay," she says, turning that smile on him again. "More water."

He nods back at her and moves to the pump handle. It should still be weird when she stands, not even bothering to turn her back to him, but instead it's the most natural thing in the world. Just Beth, in her natural state. He quirks his head, asking if she's ready, and she nods back to him. He primes the well pump with a couple strokes before it starts spitting water again, and then he watches Beth bend at the waist to rinse her clothes. Her skin goosebumps and her nipples pebble at the splashes of earth-cold water. He catalogues these things carefully, content to let himself feel impossibly fond.

When she's done with the clothes, she let's the bucket fill one more time then lifts it up high and dumps it over her own head. It takes the majority of suds out of her hair, but she's still plenty soapy, so he does his job and keeps the water flowing. She rinses a few more times that way before she nods at him and he let's the handle fall still again. He leans over it, bracing one arm against the curve at the top and letting the structure take his weight. He's not very out of breath, but he is a little for some reason, and he rests there, watching as Beth steps off the concrete and into the soaked, sudsy grass.

"Jesus," he says, eyeing all the bubbly run off. "You use that whole bar?"

"Course not," Beth says jerking her chin over her shoulder toward the significantly thinner bar of soap still resting on the concrete. "Half still there for you."

Daryl jerks his gaze back to her, to where she's carefully laying out her clothes in the grass underneath the warm sun. She still looks innocent and angelic, but Daryl also feels like she could be the devil herself under all that fresh, clean skin.

"No way," he says for the third time in an hour.

"The hell you're not!" Beth replies, skipping over the whole part of the argument where he says what he's not doing and why.

That feels unfair, cuz he's got some real logical arguments about how smelling like he's dead is actually pretty good camouflage. He won't bother to deny that he's filthy. Fact is, he feels downright crusty. Still, her prancing around naked is one thing. That ain't a show he wants to put on.

"Beth," he starts.

"Oh no you don't," Beth says, cutting him off. "I smell amazing, and I'm not gonna let your stench ruin that for me."

"Ugh," Daryl grunts, draping himself too dramatically over the well pump, like she's telling him to dig his own grave or something.

"Don't be a baby," Beth tells him.

Daryl huffs out a tiny laugh, because being in this situation is pretty funny, all things considered. Theoretically, he could just put his foot down and refuse. Theoretically. But he shifts his weight, feels the way his pants are so stiff they practically crackle. For a while, during _The Winter_ , he'd stopped wearing underwear cuz of how filthy he felt. Free-ballin' somehow seemed preferable. But things were so good at the prison. So good. _Clean underwear_ good.

"Daryl!" Beth says sharply. "Wash your ass!"

Daryl hangs his head and stifles another laugh. Cuz honestly, what the fuck. It's real bad when the dirty redneck feels like he's too damn dirty. He's also got fresh blood on his pants from the fox, which pretty much negates the effectiveness of his death stench camo.

He's about to acquiesce when he's hit with a wall of cold water. He sucks in a shocked breath through his teeth and looks up, staring at Beth as she stands in front of him, grinning with the empty bucket in hand.

"Sonuvabitch!" He shouts, not exactly at her, but it's a near thing.

She shrugs at him and crosses her arms, completely undaunted. He growls and shifts his crossbow from hand to hand as he shucks out of his vest and throws it as far into the dry grass as he can. Beth steps toward him and he stomps away as his fingers struggle with the buttons of his shirt. They orbit around the well pump until she's on the handle side and he's on the spigot side. Daryl gets out of his shirt and flings it, but Beth snatches it out of the air and dumps it on the concrete beneath the spigot. She starts pumping the well, and Daryl feels water splashing up his legs. He hastily kicks his boots off and away. Nothing worse than wet goddamn boots.

Daryl looks a little forlornly at his dingy socks. At one time they'd been either black or white, but they're some indeterminate color in between now, with holes in the heels _and_ the toes. Seized by irrational anger about not even getting to have decent socks, Daryl tries to tear them off so fast that he ends up hopping around on one foot and then the other, his bow flopping around on his back.

Beth snorts at him like he's the silliest man in the world, and he probably might as well be. He flings his socks which sends her chasing into the grass after them, and then, trying hard not to think about it, he yanks his last shirt off, the thin, soft one he wears underneath. He takes one second to take one deep breath then, mentally reaching and pushing down on the feeling that he's revealed something shameful and new. But Beth knows about his scars, has already seen them. So it takes some effort, but he manages to rein in his roaring asshole attack enough to let the shirt go into the pile she started under the spigot. Then he yanks his belt open and tosses it toward his boots before it gets any wetter.

He keeps up his momentum, cuz if he thinks about unbuttoning his pants in front of Beth for too long, he's gonna lose his nerve. This just needs to happen fast. He yanks his zip down and hastily kicks his pants into the pile. Beth comes back with his socks and drops them with the rest before pumping up more water. It's so cold against his bare legs, splashing up over his knees, that he feels his balls try to crawl up into the proverbial garage. His dick probably looks like an alarmed turtle.

He let's out another nervous laugh, but Beth is kind enough not to ask about it.

He goes for the soap then, trying to pretend he hasn't skipped a step or two. His crossbow falls from his shoulder and slides down his arm when he reaches for the soap. He nearly falls over trying to keep it from banging to the ground.

"For Pete's sake," Beth says and holds out her hand. "Gimme that."

He grumbles something cuz even with his shorts still on, not having that crossbow is gonna make him feel naked as hell. Beth just makes a grabby hand at him until he reluctantly hands it over. She slings it expertly over her head, as if he's been teaching her about it for years and not just a few days. He's arrested again, this time by the sight of her, naked and proud and armed, like some kinda miniature Amazon queen. Her being so little should be funny somehow, but it ain't. She's so much tougher than anyone's ever given her credit for, and it makes her vividly gorgeous.

With some effort, Daryl wrestles himself back into action, trying to get the soap going on his arms, but Beth hasn't started the water up again yet. He glances back at her questioningly, and she's got her hands on her hips again, the strap of his bow across her tits.

"What," he says, even through a dry mouth, and even though he _knows_.

"This ain't a b-movie where the girl has to show the goods and the guy doesn't," Beth huffs. "You turn over those drawers right now, Daryl Dixon."

Daryl groans but is determined to stop being a twat about this. He turns sideways to her, not sure which view of him is gonna be any less offensive. He awkwardly shimmies out of his shorts and kicks them into the pile. In the end, he feels safer facing away, even if it exposes his back and backside. He tosses a glare over his shoulder, and Beth nods and sets to work on the well handle.

The water is maybe a degree or two away from frozen, he's sure, but he still crouches down and shoves himself under it. He hops back out of the spray and gets busy with the soap. He runs it through his hair and starts working his way down, efficiently scrubbing every grimy crease he can find on himself. There ain't a lot of them, which he supposes for his age, he should be proud about. The apocalypse has kept him from the beer belly he might have otherwise developed.

When he gets down to his junk, it's so much worse than he thought, cuz not only is he self-conscious, but his man parts want nothing to do with his icy hands, and he feels like he's prying the meat out of a walnut when he tugs on his balls to give them a proper scrub.

Beth's kindness seems to have a limit, cuz she's giggling between perfectly timed strokes of the well pump.

"S'fuckin' cold!" Daryl barks defensively.

"Don't be a baby," Beth says again, something sing-songy about it this time, and Daryl wishes he had something to throw at her beside his dirty underwear.

"You owe me for this," Daryl grumbles, trying to find some bluster to distract himself from the sheer mortification.

"Oh please," Beth snorts.

Daryl scowls at her for a moment before focusing on getting this shit over with. He scrubs down his legs, even gets in between his toes, then he slams what's left of the bar of soap on top of his pile of clothes. He finally turns all the way around, giving Beth the full exposure, as he holds his arms out wide.

"Ya happy?" He demands.

Beth makes a big show of pinching her mouth sideways as she gives him a thorough appraisal down and back up again. He crosses his arms over his chest like it don't bother him one bit. He's about a tick away from jumping right out of his own skin.

Life does smell a helluva lot better though.

"I guess you pass muster," Beth says, and the shyness in her smile is the first sign she's given that this is anything out of the ordinary.

Daryl feels caught in her smile until something seeps down from his scalp and into the corner of his eye, starting up a good burn.

"Ugh, water," he says, and he hears the pump go and the splashing start up again.

He crouches down under the spigot to rinse, keeping himself from tipping over with one hand against the concrete. He hears the bucket scrape somewhere just behind him, and he reaches back for it. His hand smacks against naked skin, and he jerks around with a start. Beth's right up against the pump, still running the handle, but she's got her leg stretched out, her toes pushing the bucket close enough to him that it'll fill with water while he rinses. Or she was, but she's frozen now, and it takes Daryl a second to register that he's got her ankle in a death grip.

"Shit," he says and let's her go.

Her nakedness is a lot more distracting from this angle, from this lesser distance than before.

"Shit," he mutters again and throws himself back under the ice cold water.

He thinks maybe Beth laughs, high and thready, but he focuses on making sure he's rinsed clean. He stands when he's finished, stepping to the front edge of the well pad before shaking himself off, his hair slapping either side of his face. He's liked doing that since he was a kid. Makes him feel like a dog, and he likes dogs.

He hears the water slowing behind him and takes a moment to re-establish his kill zones. The day is still sunny and warm, and the coast is still improbably clear.

"Huh," he says before turning back to Beth.

"What?" She asks, already down on her knees again and taking the soap to his clothes.

"Uh," Daryl says and scratches awkwardly at the back of his dripping head. "C'n wash my own clothes."

Beth squints an eye at him dubiously. "But can you? Can you really?"

"Fuck off," Daryl says with a snort of amusement.

She grins. She maybe has a point though. Daryl wasn't all that consistent with the clean clothes even back when all it took was a packet of soap powder thrown into the machine at the laundromat. Just the same, he still feels kinda bad. She's not his damn maid. Thinking about it though, he'd much rather see her occupied with laundry than killing things, so maybe it's not so bad to let her have this task. Still, he stands there like a knob, all kinds of out of sorts until she wrings out his red handkerchief and holds it up to him.

"For your vest?" She suggests.

Daryl nods and reaches for the hanky. His fingers brush hers when he takes it, and she's just as ice cold as he is. He pauses and squeezes her fingers between his own, as if rubbing ice cubes together might make heat.

"You okay?" He asks with a frown.

"M'fine," Beth reassures, then let's his washing go long enough to wrestle his bow off and hold it up to him.

He takes it. "Thanks."

Beth smiles at him.

It's not until he turns away that he let's himself think about how he was standing in front of Beth, dick hanging out, while she was on her knees. There's a traitorous clench somewhere behind his balls when he lingers too long on the thought. He shakes his head at it, at himself, and picks his way over to his vest. He plops down in the grass, setting his crossbow down beside him, and focuses on wiping down the old leather.

When he's done, Beth is finishing up rinsing his clothes. She carries the wet pile over to where she laid her own out and begins spreading them carefully in the sunlight.

Daryl glowers a moment cuz he knows they'll have to stay here like this as long as they can manage. He ain't about to chafe his dick on wet shorts. For lack of anything better to do, he stands and goes to rinse out his hanky when he's done with his vest. When he turns back around, he's nose to nose with Beth.

"Christ," he says, backing up only to have the pump dig into his spine. "Gonna hafta get you outta those boots more often if it makes ya this quiet."

He smothers a wince at how shit just flies out of his mouth sometimes. As if he needs to be saying anything about getting her out of any clothes at a time like this. Beth tilts her head at him, looking unerringly through his messy hair to find his eyes. He squirms, and it's awful, cuz the well bumps against the knobs of his spine.

"I'm cold," Beth says, and without any hesitation, plasters herself to his front.

Daryl's already cold body freezes, still and hard like a block of ice. Beth winds her arms around his waist and locks them behind his back, her bony wrists cushioning him from the cast-iron she's trapped him against. She presses into him like she's made of liquid, and the only thing he can do is be distantly aware that she might as well be hugging a fence post. He's locked up, body and mind, and he can't even think clear enough to want to get out of it.

Beth turns her head and lays her cheek on his chest.

"Don't worry," she says, and it sinks into his brain like taffy, shapeless and slow-moving.

Her skin is wet and cool, but already, where they're pressed belly to belly, he can feel shy blooms of warmth. He doesn't know how long it takes him to realize he's shivering. No, shaking. Just plain shaking. His fingers clench and unclench at his sides, but Beth just stays. He hears a low hum and realizes it's her, trying to soothe him with some nonsense tune.

And it takes more than a few moments, more time than he'll ever want to admit, but eventually he winds his arms around her shoulders and holds her gently against him.

Beth nuzzles into his chest, and he squeezes his eyes shut against an embarrassing urge to weep. Just like the first time she held onto him like this. He doesn't stop shaking, but he doesn't let go either. His legs feel weak, like he just ran for half a day.

Beth leans back, only enough to lift her head. He's still acutely aware of every place she's touching him from his belly down. Her soft breasts brush across the bottom of his ribcage, and he feels his mouth tremble.

"Sit," Beth says softly. "Down."

She puts her hands on his hips, urging him toward the ground, and he doesn't sit so much as collapse. Without all the contact, he suddenly feels like he can breathe again and takes in several gulps of air. The gulps turn to gasps as Beth slides down into his lap.

"What are you doing?" He whimpers.

Beth shushes him and wraps herself around him again. Her legs slide around his waist and tuck into the small of his back.

"Can we just...?" Beth's voice is tiny against his collar bone.

He locks his arms around her back again, like his body doesn't know how to do anything else. He hides his face in her shoulder, everything inside him shaken and raw.

They stay locked into each other like that, like one muscle clenched tight, for a very long time. Daryl feels and listens, hears his heart go from thundering to a steadier, calmer beat. He doesn't worry about how long it takes. He just pulls his head back and finally looks at Beth's face.

Her cheeks are faintly pink, her blue eyes searching. He loosens an arm enough to reach up and push some of the wet hair back from her face. She smiles and leans into the touch. He runs his thumb along her cheekbone, and she closes her eyes.

"Why?" He asks.

Beth's eyes drift back open, blue as the ocean he's never actually seen. That's how small his world is, even now. She's the ocean he's touching for the very first time. Beth's hand slides up his shoulder, cups the side of his face.

"I need you," she says. "And you need me."

It's so true it almost hurts to hear. He feels like he'd be dead without her. Like she's notched herself into his private machinery, and now he can't run without her. If she's yanked out of him, his mechanics will break down, or lock up like a seized engine.

It's the truth, and he has no response for it.

"Do you," Beth starts and pauses. "Can we... I want..."

She bites her lip and he leans forward, using his own mouth, his own teeth to pull her lip free from the pinch. She sighs against him, and he slots his mouth over hers, kissing, yes, but mostly just breathing her in. Her mouth is plump against his, working at him slow, and they find their way through several warm kisses.

Daryl pulls his head back and gazes at her a moment before saying, "You can have anything. Anything ya want."

Beth bites her lip again but quickly lets it go when he starts to drift forward to free it. She actually laughs.

"I'm not, you know," she starts then seems to think better of it.

Daryl cocks his head.

"I'm not a virgin," Beth blurts.

Daryl can't help it. He can feel the blush in his cheeks. He can feel his ears going red. He can feel how this might be the worst time ever to tell her he's never been inside a woman. Some mouths maybe, the ones Merle would buy and force on him, but... this isn't that. Isn't anywhere near that. That was a chore, something he had to do to keep his brother from beating his ass for being a sissy boy.

It just never appealed to him before. Sure, an orgasm was an orgasm, but with other people? He'd never wanted it. But he does now. Beth makes him want it, and she makes the want feel right. Still, he has to tell her.

"I haven't," he says and looks away.

He falls back on habits, tries to somehow escape the situation. He scans the area around them. Still damnably clear. He can feel her staring at him. Then she kisses the corner of his mouth. Her hand slides down his chest, down, down, fingers moving to where he's hard against her thigh.

It's only then he realizes he _is_ hard. His dick is a gentle throb against the edge of his consciousness. He doesn't know how this snuck up on him. Then again, it'd probably be pretty insulting to her if he wasn't hard by now.

He catches her wrist, stops her even though he's never wanted someone to touch him more.

"Ain't got nothin'," he mumbles. "Ain't gonna be no good."

Beth stays still, studying him for a long moment, then her hand moves again and closes around his dick. He jumps cuz her fingers are still cold. She leans into him, crushing his arm between them as he still grips her wrist. He feels her lips against his ear.

"That's a double negative, Daryl Dixon," she whispers.

He groans, no idea when the hell grammar got sexy, when the hell _anything_ got sexy, ever.

"Yer gonna be amazing for me," Beth says. "Yer always amazing for me."

He's swamped in some confusing mix of desire, denial, and fear. He wants her, but he doesn't want to fuck this up. He wants to be good for her. She let's him go, and he shudders at the loss. His dick is so fucking confused. Then, right before his eyes, while he's still hanging onto her wrist, she licks into her own palm. He groans and drops his hand. She's too overwhelming.

Beth slides her fingers into her mouth, sucking gently, and he doesn't know what she's doing, just that it makes him throb.

"Hand's still cold," Beth says around her fingers.

Before he can think about it and stop himself, Daryl drags her hand outta her mouth and to his. He sucks her fingers in, sloppy and reckless, and she moans. She squirms against him as he laves with his tongue, smelling and tasting the sharp cleanness between her fingers. He can feel her soft bush rubbing against the top of his thigh. She's rubbing herself on him, just to the side of where his dick rests up against his navel, and then he feels it. He feels her curls grow damp and then slick. He moans around her fingers.

She pulls her hand from his mouth and goes straight for his dick. He whines when she grips him, smoothing warm fingers and spit up and down him.

"Christ," he moans weakly.

Beth is looking down between them, watching herself touch him, and he watches her, already losing his breath. He feels her thumb swipe across his uncut head and his hips jolt. She jolts with them, the tiniest bounce in his lap, but it centers her, bringing her wet curls up along the underside of his dick. She presses the length of him against her then moves her hips, making him nestle down until he's sliding against her slick lips. Her movements are small but deliberate, pressing him tighter and tighter against her soaked pussy. She rolls her hips a little more, and he's dragging up and down her slit.

He drops his head to look and nearly comes at the sight. He's dripping with her and she pushes down his foreskin and presses his bare head hard against the top of her slit. He feels the head of his dick nudge that little nub he knows is there, and Beth whines in the back of her throat, teeth clenched tight.

"Fuck," he says.

Beth nods at him fervently. He reaches down and chases her hand off his dick, using his own fingers to guide it, rolling his head against her clit before sliding up and down the length of her with long, firm strokes.

"That good?" He asks, practically panting.

He's so unsure, brain grasping at strings, trying to remember what he learned from Merle's goddamn porn. He's doing something right though. He must be. Beth's eyes drift closed and her head lolls back. She smiles.

"Don't let this go to your head," she says, and he snorts a surprised laugh. "But your cock is perfect."

Daryl chokes a little.

"Cock?" He asks, voice stupidly high, and he knows he sounds like he's never heard the word before.

Beth lets out a breathless giggle. The giggle melts into a sigh as his cockhead catches her clit again. Her hips shudder against him.

"It is," Beth whispers, and she sounds as desperate as he feels. "Thick and hot and hard. Wanna feel you inside me."

Daryl groans and kisses her to stop the filthy, lovely things that are coming out of her mouth. Her hand covers his, guides him as she keeps rolling her hips. And then she lifts, lifts up over him and lines him up. Some nagging bitch part of his conscience still shrieks that he should stop her, but he's not gonna. Never gonna. She gets anything she wants. He'll give her anything.

Beth presses his head into her hole, just a little, and they both moan. She's hot and wet and tight and slow. They're moving into each other like molasses, and it's excruciating the way she's splitting around him, his head rubbing through her hot folds as she ripples and her muscles work to make room for his cock.

He never thought of a woman being strong there, but God, she's strong. She's gonna squeeze the life right outta him. He's gonna come before she even gets him all the way in.

Instinctively, he slides his fingers down to the base of his cock, hissing while he does, and then he grabs on tight, like he can hold himself together. He can feel his blood throbbing into his shaft, like his body thinks he can get harder.

Beth whines, high and needy, and he wraps his free hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down, down onto him, because she's gotta go faster. She's gotta take what she needs before he can't give it anymore.

Beth drops the rest of the way into his lap and keens. It's a high, desperate noise. It's the best thing he's ever heard. She's the best thing he's ever felt, wrapped around him tight, sloppy wet against his knuckles. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays. Prays that it won't ever end.

Then she starts moving. Her hard nipples drag up his pecs as she humps herself onto him, seating him and reseating him, trying to find the right fit, he thinks, somewhat fuzzily. Her movements are still small, but they're killing him, and she's making noises like she's in pain, and for a moment, he worries that she is. His hand strokes soothingly at the back of her neck, cuz he doesn't know what else to do.

Then she settles on him, buries him deep, and says, " _Oh_!" on a drawn out sigh.

 _Oh fuck_ , he thinks.

And she starts to ride him. Quick, jerky movements, clumsy but good. So good. She's barely coming up off his cock, but he feels like she's moving the world. She's the universe, trembling and squeezing around him. Her hands go to his shoulders, hanging on, and she moves her legs, finding leverage. She comes up higher, higher, the afternoon air like a slap against his cock, and then she fucks down onto him.

It's so good he can't even moan anymore, and he tightens his fingers around himself desperately. He slouches, tilts his hips up under her, the iron of the well pump digging painfully into his back. He needs the pain because she isn't stopping, not stopping so he can calm the fuck down. Instead she rings his shoulders with her arms so she can collapse into his neck, her shoulders shoving him back every time she strokes herself up his cock. She pants in his ear and lets herself fall back onto his dick again and again.

He should open his eyes, he should. They're both making so much noise. He does, but he never looks past Beth-- the way her shoulder rises and falls, her soft breasts crushed to his chest, moving, squeezing with her every move. He hooks his chin over her shoulder and looks down the curve of her spine, drops his hand from her neck and clamps it onto the perfect, milky flesh of her ass. He feels her muscles clenching, from the outside, and he can't breathe with the way she's clenching him on the inside.

He almost doubted her when she said she wasn't a virgin, but he knows now. He knows she's a fucking goddess. No one else could possibly be this good. He can hear her, for fucks sake, the way she squelches on his girth.

She's gonna make him come. He's gonna come inside her like a fire hose, and his arms start to spasm, his fingers digging in, both into her ass and into his dick. He's trembling all over as the orgasm crawls through his balls.

"Not yet!" Beth whispers and bites his shoulder, hard.

He makes a wounded noise and bucks up into her, but he doesn't come. He won't. His knuckles grind into her wet folds, and suddenly she's humping against his hand as much as she's grinding on his dick. She tightens on him, impossibly, and it's all he wants to feel. He wants her to come all over him.

It hurts, it fucking hurts, the full ache in his balls, the burning urgency. But it's everything he's ever wanted. He shoves up into her, artless and desperate, her slick heat pulling on him, dragging over him, gripping him like she owns him, until the only thing he can do is keep feeding his cock back into her, hard, jerking thrusts that should be splitting her open, but she doesn't break. She moans, cries, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, and then she screams.

Half a second of loud desperation in his ear before she muffles it in his shoulder and crushes him. Her cunt clamps down on him like a vice and quakes. Her legs shake uncontrollably against his sides. His hips keep twitching, he can't stop, and she's crying. She's crying into his shoulder.

"Thank you, thank you," she pants against him before he gathers himself enough to worry.

He makes a noise then, and he doesn't want to call it a whine, but it is. She keeps trembling and jolting around him, but she leans back, and he smashes his face against her left tit, closing his mouth on her puckered nipple and hanging on for dear life.

She moans again, quieter this time. He feels the way she tries to starting moving on him again, but her legs won't hold her.

"Your turn," she pants. "Your turn."

But she's a dead weight in his lap. He lurches forward, using the well pump to push himself up onto his knees. The concrete bashes his kneecaps, and he puts both arms under her ass, lifting her, not quite off of him, but enough so that when they pitch forward, his hand flattens in wet grass. He shuffles forward, not giving a shit about the scrapes blooming hot across his knees.

Beth clings to him as he crawls forward, getting them just barely over the edge of the concrete pad. She's under him now, and he lays her in the soft, wet grass, digs his knees into the dirt and snaps his hips into her.

She cries out again, her hand shooting down between them, her fingers against the top of his cock as she rubs herself. He doesn't know where he found this last bit of endurance, but both his hands are holding his weight now as he slams into her. There's nothing keeping his cock from erupting but sheer willpower and Beth's still needy cries.

"Wanna see it again," he growls down at her, and he doesn't even recognize his own voice.

"Wanna," she moans. "Daryl. Please."

He rears up, dragging her leg up over his hip, and drives into her with everything he has. She puts her fist in her mouth and keens in the back of her throat. There's a flush spreading across the top of her breasts, up her throat, into her cheeks, angry red, like she's gonna explode.

And then she does. Her hips come up off the ground and she squeezes so tight she nearly breaks his dick in half. A pulse of fresh wetness makes his eyes roll back in his head, and when he shoves his dick in again, he feels it squeezing out around him, sticking to his thighs. Beth thrashes beneath him so hard he falls out of her spasming cunt, but his hips still drive forward and he's fucking into the soft crease of her thigh while she comes apart beneath him.

His hand flies down to hold his throbbing cock tight against her smooth, pale skin, and then he becomes a livewire, a single nerve running through his cock and balls, that's all he is. _Fuck_ , _fuck_ , it unspools up out of his groin, cramping his belly, shooting through his chest, and zinging down his arms. His hips stutter against her, and he knows he's coming with every single part of his body. His cock jerks and spits, ropes of his come painting across her hip, and he's paralyzed by how good it feels. It's so good. So good.

" _So good_ ," he hears himself whimper brokenly.

Beth's hand stroke at his chest, uncoordinated, cuz she's still wracked with little shudders beneath him. He lets himself collapse on her, his dick dragging and twitching through his own come. Beth oofs adorably at his weight, but her arms lock around his shoulders again, and he doesn't care. Neither of them care.

" _Fuck_ ," he rasps into her shoulder and she laughs softly.

"I told you," she hums at him, chest heaving against his.

Christ, he's gonna do this again. He's gonna do it as often as she lets him.

It takes a long time of them locked together and shivering through their last pulses of pleasure. But Daryl eventually shifts to the side enough that his hip lands on the grass, and he's not crushing Beth anymore. He lets himself soften against her thigh, keeps one leg thrown over her, cuz he wants her skin against his dick for the rest of his life. He feels like he's raw and she's perfect-- beautiful, natural, and the last right thing in this world.

Beth stretches her arm out into the grass, making room for him, and he lays his head down on her breast. Her fingers rub lazily up and down his spine.

"We're gonna be okay," Beth says.

And Daryl aches and doesn't know why.

**Author's Note:**

> Tfw you know the girl who popped your cherry is probably gonna die. Sad face.
> 
> When I started this, I honestly thought it was just going to be intimate but non-sexual touching. Then Beth got horny.
> 
> Okay, but serious apologies to anyone who's been waiting for me to get the fuck on with "Turn Back to the End." I will. I promise. Riddick will kill me if I don't let him nail Johns to the floor pretty soon. I'm kidding. Turn is a sap fest about slightly murdery husbands, with a porn bridge in the middle. Oh well. Ya can't pick your OTP. (Can you? Is that how that works?)


End file.
